


Sonorous

by hellopurpletiger (Felix_Kawaii)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: gap yaaaaaaaarrr, he's only twenty give him a break geez, travelling! Harry, x-overs will be attempted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-01-19 16:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felix_Kawaii/pseuds/hellopurpletiger
Summary: "Tell me, Harry, what do you like to do? As a hobby?”“Defence.” He said, immediately.“Is that because you want to? Or because you needed to?”--Or Harry has a "mid"-life crisis, and somehow ends up meeting certain members of the Italian Mafia.





	1. fỳrgebræc (n.) the distinct, sharp crackling or breaking sound made by a fire

  **chapter 1: _fýrgebræc (n.) the distinct, sharp crackling or breaking sound made by fire_**

Harry Potter had thought he was done with the Dursley family. He had grown up beaten and trodden on in their home, and had not returned since before beginning the hunt for Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. He had not spoken or called or written to them, had not so much as seen them although the war had ended two years ago.

And yet, as he sat in his home, eating his dinner whilst Ginny nattered on opposite about one thing or another and Teddy sat in his high chair, uncomprehendingly, with his fingers in his bowl of mashed veg, he was reminded that he wasn’t quite rid of them yet.

The dinner itself was quite pleasant. A Sunday roast (because it was Sunday and that was the done thing, even in the Wizarding world) of rosemary and sage basted chicken, it’s skin golden and crisp and its meat succulent and tender, a tray of roasted vegetables he’d grown in the garden and a salad with the same origins. The wineglass by his plate was half-filled, it’s red-sweetness shining in the light.

“-and what on earth was Isolde thinking anyways! I swear she needs to find a husband soon, she was practically trying to eat the coach with her eyes, the hussy!”

He hummed absently. Across the table from him, Ginny Weasley dabbed her mouth with her napkin before taking another sip of wine from her own glass. She was much the same as she had been before the battle, red-hair bright as she talked, the same look in her eyes when it came to quidditch and the same Bat-bogey hex reflex for anyone that dared to annoy her. She had matured too though, nineteen as she was, sat straight backed and posture full of clean lines in her seat, wearing a  pale blue dress half hidden by the tablecloth.

“…husband is actually working at Gringott’s, I never knew! You’d think with a man like that attached to her she might be a little more scrupulous about spending, right? And I still can’t believe she’s married!” There was a pause. He glanced up, a forkful of potatoes halfway to his mouth. Across the table, she eyed him expectantly and then sighed when he only blinked back at her. “How was work, anyways?”

“Fine,” He said, and thought about what to say. “Ron might be getting a promotion, he says. Possibly to lead his own squad.” He chewed his food to stall for time. “Dennis is graduating from the Academy soon so he might get into Ron’s new squad. Says his mum’s doing well.” He cut another piece of chicken. “Greengrass is in the running for Head Auror, she’s got backing from half the department so should be a pretty productive term if she gets the job.”

Teddy let out a giggle as mash flicked across his face, a glob of carrot in his blue hair, amber irises filled with childish glee.

“Still can’t believe Slytherins are in law enforcement.” Ginny tutted, with a roll of her eyes.

He frowned. “They’ve done a decent job, with the circumstance.” It was true, after the battle everyone who was at Hogwarts at the time had undergone interrogation via Veritaserum. There had been no Auror Corps to conduct interviews so the whole thing had been conducted by Kingsley (interim Minister of Magic, at the time) below board and kept very quiet. It had come to light that whilst most of the Slytherins had known their parents’ were guilty of crimes and obstructed justice by keeping mouths shut, a significant majority of them were merely terrified students and innocent. “Daphne’s done a good job with her guys, they’ve been hitting goal after goal, especially considering she’s still holding her Wizengamot seat.”

There were a lot of kids in Hogwarts who hadn’t been able to join the DA in hiding, and she’d confessed under the truth serum that the only crimes she was guilty of had been sequestering the youngest years in the dungeons and moving them throughout the castle discretely to avoid detection from the Carrows. “Blaise’s been made Head of the Italian Magical Embassy in Hogsmeade, even though he’s busy in between St Mungo’s and the Potions’ Department.” And hadn’t that been a surprise, the ever elusive Zabini family coming out of hiding in Italy to help with the rebuilding of the British Ministry of Magic, purely because Lady Zabini’s first husband had been a native. “Malfoy’s even working at the DMLE now,” He chuckled, imagining what a younger (now Lord) Malfoy would have thought of his current self’s career. “He’s been making waves in the Law department from what I hear from Hermione.”

“Still,” Ginny muttered, brows furrowed in distaste. “Shouldn’t you be considered for a position like Head Auror? I’m pretty sure most people would prefer you.”

He snorted, and it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I don’t want to be Head Auror, it’s a desk job and I can literally think of nothing worse to do for the next forty years.” He’d given it a lot of thought recently, what with Hermione’s nagging about career planning now that she was back from Australia as well as his girlfriend – well, that could be up for debate he supposed considering they hadn’t really talked about it beyond her talking him into buying a house together, because that was _normal._

“- _normal_ to be ambitious! You should have been promoted by now, honestly! My Quidditch career will only last so long, and who do you think is going to have to support us then! And let’s not forget - ”

He had thought he’d rid himself of the Dursleys by now. It was ridiculous. And yet as he sat in his seat, listening to Ginny talk on about advancing up the career ladder and stability and expectations, he felt as if he was back in his cupboard again. Under the stairs as Uncle Vernon thundered down hollering for breakfast and Aunt Petunia tutting, her frying pan held aloft like a subtle threat, and Dudley watching him with a sneer on his face, meaty fists ready for some Harry-Hunting. 

Except this time, Dudley was the death eaters and left over supporters, either locked up in Azkaban or roaming the shadows waiting for him to slip up; and Aunt Petunia was higher ups pushing him into the Corps with its stiff rules and policies, in spite of the fact that he’d broken basically every rule in his school years and a large helping of laws and Ginny’s expectations for a ring, and high-flying husband to brag about and Molly’s of a wedding and grandchildren ( _“Proper ones, mind you!”_ Never mind that he already had Teddy, and the abundance of children made orphans because of Voldemort at The Rook); and Uncle Vernon – his _adoring_ public, crowding him everytime he left the house, jostling and pushing and shoving, rubbing their hands greedily and asking him to autograph everything in sight – all eager to find out _How he killed Voldemort? How did he live?_ And _“Show us your scar, then?”_

It wasn’t just the public either – _Hermione eying him speculatively, whispers from the Department of Mysteries, rooms silencing the moment he stepped past the threshold, hushed do-you-think’s in shadowed corners everywhere he turned._

Teddy’s babbling quietened.

Tonks and Remus had left Teddy with him and Andromeda to share custody. Andy was very much still alive and kicking, and usually had Teddy during the week and left the weekends for the toddler’s godfather. But right now, Harry wished he’d asked Andy to take the whole seven days this week instead.

He was being silly, probably. Paranoia left over from the battle and a life of watching his back if he wanted to see the sunrise tomorrow. Yes, the public were annoying. Yes, he had expectations but so did everyone else. Yes, he would just have to deal.

He would just have to…

It didn’t matter that he’d spent his whole life born and raised to die, and then hadn’t died. As if expecting never to live past Hogwarts age wasn’t a fundamental part of his growing years and an ingrained expectation of self.

The Boy-Who-Lived(-to-die) had been his identity for so long that the Man-Who-Conquered was a stranger in his skin.

He was twenty and he had no idea who he was.

“ - listening to me, Harry Potter!”  

His head snapped up. Ginny’s face was flushed with anger and too much wine, freckles smudged with the red in her cheeks.

His fists trembled. “…I need some air.”

He snatched up Teddy from his chair and left.

 

* * *

  

The Rook was a beautiful construct, despite its odd architecture. The part that was originally Luna’s house was shaped much like the piece it was named for, with sloping sides leading to a round top with parapets like a castle. There was a window that stuck out, oddly square with a triangle of roof tiles above it.

Surrounding it were other similar ‘rook’ buildings.

It had been Luna’s idea, a musing “it’s awful quiet round here,” after her father had died, snowballed into the remodeling and building of The Rook – Home for Children. Three additional ‘rooks’ were built up practically in the Lovegood’s back garden to house boys and girls from newborns up to Hogwarts age.

Harry let himself in through the front gate, knowing the Wards would alert Dean and Seamus of his arrival. The path up to the Main Rook was marked with chalk drawn hopscotch grids and smiling suns and flowers, the occasional attempt at a Quidditch player on a broom. The grass surrounding it was not overgrown but there were daisy chains lying haphazardly and wooden toys littered around.

In his arms, Teddy was fast asleep, suckling his thumb whilst his sunset pink hair was adorably wild as any Potter.

The front door opened before he could arrange his arms to knock.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Dean shook his head, with a smile. “Never mind, come in, you’ve just missed the Big’uns’ bedtime.”

“Aren’t I lucky then?” He laughed back and nudged the door shut with his hip, mindful not to jostle his godson. “Seamus tucking them in tonight? Or Mrs Creevey?”

“Both,” Dean snorted, leading them into the kitchen. “Jenny’s giving them trouble again, the little minx, she got into the pantry and found the chocolate for tomorrow.”

In the kitchen, Lisa Turpin (she’d been in his year and the DA too) and Millicent Bulstrode (his year and Slytherin) and Philip Greene (Ginny’s year and a Hufflepuff) were gathered around the long table, happily ignoring crayon marks and chatting over scissors and craft paper.

They all glanced up when he entered.

“That girl, scoffed the lot right in front of me, three whole bars of Honedukes!” Philip laughed, as Dean went to get more mugs and a fresh pot of tea and Harry snagged a seat by Lisa.

“She was sick after, right?” Harry guessed, kids these days.

“Yup!” Lisa giggled, “Darted right through Phil’s legs and barrelled out the door straight into Seamus and puked on his shoes!”

Millicent crowed. “But not before she tried to kick him in the crotch!”

All the men present gave a little shudder, kids these days were scary.

 

By the time he’d finished helping The Rook’s staff with cutting and gluing, they’d been joined by Mrs Creevey who still insisted he called her Helen, and Seamus looking a little worse for wear, gone through several pots of tea and had paperchains looking long enough to run through Hogwarts at least twice!

Philip had gone back to the Little Rook with Millie to watch over the sleeping babies and tots, and Lisa and Mrs Creevey had also retired to the Mid-Rook where the four to seven year olds slept.

Dean and Seamus had given each other a look, like they were communicating with their eyes in the way that lifelong couples do despite being the same age, and patted him on the shoulder.

“There’s a bed up in the infirmary for you and Winky will be around if you need anything,” Seamus said quietly, as he washed up the last of the mugs. “Don’t stay up too late, mate.”

And then Dean and Seamus headed to the Big Rook to bed.

Alone in the kitchen, with Teddy conked out on one of the plush side chairs, Harry set the last of the mugs on the drying rack and spelled away the drips around the sink.

Truth was, he loved the Wizarding world. He loved the delight of Diagon Alley, the intrigue of Knockturn Alley, and modern-ness of Trivi Alley. And the new Quibbler Headquarters right where the Prophet used to be, and filled with the best and brightest and not a Dicta-Quill in sight. And Ottery-St-Catchpole with the warmth of the Burrow, and The Rook and the Diggory Half-Way House for Young Adults. And Hogsmeade with Madam Rosmerta pouring glasses in The Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes with its sweet treats and hidden passage, and the Shrieking Shack and Hog’s Head with the gruff Aberforth still grumbling angrily under his breath.

Not to mention Hogwarts.

Beautiful as she was, rebuilt in as much of her glory as they could manage. Her staircases still nimble and moving, slower than she used to be but still very much present. The ceiling of the Great Hall, now a kaleidoscope of weather patterns and stars no matter what time of day, scarred but not broken. Her ghost companions had not fled. Her battlements still stood tall, her flags still raised. There was still much to be done, but Gringotts had taken over, sent their warders and curse-breakers, and brought in ex-patriot architects who had long since fled Britain but returned out of loyalty and love for the years they’d had protected by her four walls.

Harry Potter loved Wizarding Britain.

But, he needed some time away. Some time to find who he was and who he wanted to be. What he wanted to do instead of what he defaulted into doing. He felt old and young, world-weary and yet unsure as a newborn colt. His purpose had been completed – so he needed to find a new one.

He’d argued with his friends about this before. You have a new one! They would cry. “You have your godson.” – Hermione had said. “You have your job” – Ron had said. “You have me.” – Ginny had said.

But a purpose can’t be a person, he had said back. And I have no purpose in that job, he had said too.

In all honesty, Harry felt like he had barely blinked his eyes between dying in the Forbidden Forest and then being congratulated for his Order of Merlin with camera’s flashing blindingly as hands were shook.

He wasn’t unhappy. But he wasn’t content to live like this until he died. He wasn’t angry anymore, at Dumbledore or Snape, or the old Ministry. He wasn’t mourning anymore either, it had felt like he had cried and grieved and screamed for far too long.

He was just… restless.

He stood and scooped up Teddy gently, cradling his head to his chest with one hand and cupping the other to the little boy’s small back. The toddler smelt of Molly’s fudge, and Andy’s perfume, and roasted vegetables from dinner.

Harry yawned, ignoring the itchy-unsettled-toe-curling feeling in his limbs. He’d do something tomorrow. Make a plan, whatever.

He headed up the stairs towards the infirmary to find a bed.

 

He woke up early the next morning, left a note tucked into the guestbook by the front door and apparated a sleepy Teddy Lupin to his Grandma’s.

Andy took one look at the dark circles round his eyes and put Teddy back to bed while somehow simultaneously plying his knackered godfather with a massive thermos of scalding coffee and booting him out the door for work, dressed in his Auror uniform with strict orders to come back later for a chat and a scolding.

The Ministry was in full swing by the time he checked in at eight thirty, half the coffee drained. The teaching office in the Corps’ Training Centre was blessedly peaceful and he had just enough time to gather the staff for a brief run through of the week’s schedule and announcements before the first of the recruits arrived.

It was a system Susan Bones had come up with for DA, bi-weekly meetings on Monday and Friday to set goals and then check progress. Susan herself was the Lead Defence Trainer teaching the recruits martial arts and working them hard, prone to being quick with her hexes and even faster with her punches. Ernie Macmillan was another Trainer from his Hogwarts’ year, one of the teachers for Substance Detection that was training the recruits to use magical animals to detect drugs and other illegal substances – although the method itself wasn’t quite refined just yet, crups had the best sense of smell but they were often too timid in the face of intimidation and whilst owls were good at finding people, the materials they had to be trained to detect were often too toxic to their biology. The idea had been Daphne Greengrass’ despite their muggle origins, oddly enough. Stealth and Special Ops training was lead by Roger Davies and Thaliana Korofsky, a Durmstrang graduate, and Sue Li trained the recruits in Track and Capture.

Training at the Centre was designed to be quick, brutal and efficient. The war had cut down Auror numbers by half, and cleaning the Ministry of rats had cut that down even further. So the syllabus was made to churn out recruits ready for real experience in the Corps in as little as six months. Currently the British Auror Corps was around a hundred strong, with a three-man squad in every Wizarding settlement of sufficient size, although the bulk of the force was concentrated in their DMLE headquarters opposite the Ministry.

The Corps itself was spearheaded by Patroclus Odgen, one of Moody’s first recruits back in the day, a balding blond man with a scarred face and sharp grin. Odgen was a fair sort, neutral politically and not a part of the Order but ended up killing Death Eaters left right and centre anyways despite having retired from the Aurors before Harry’s fifth year. He’d taken over after Scrimmgeour and essentially done Kingsley’s dirty work in the aftermath of the war handling the round-up of the remaining Death-Eaters and cleaning up shop in the Ministry with the hardier of the DA whilst Kingsley dealt with the Wizengamot, politics, international scrutiny from the other magical nations and the returning refugees.

Once the meeting was over, Harry had a couple hours of teaching, tutoring the ones that were lagging behind, usually because education was somewhat spotty because Hogwarts was still being repaired and the war had forced many to go on the run or be taught from home. A lot of other departments, not just the DMLE were having overhauls too, and declaring if you were muggleborn was no longer a requirement or an allowed reason for not being hired so many of them were returning to the Wizarding World with more jobs and better prospects.

Pretty much anyone who was of Hogwarts leaving age was being recruited into either Ministry posts, the DMLE, various embassies or St Mungo’s. Even squibs were being hired, mainly for low paying jobs, like wait staff or hospitality but it was some improvement compared to complete extradition as it had been before. The squib kids at the Rook or the Half-Way House were all well acquainted with the Spellwick’s curriculum and last he’d heard of Cho Chang, she and Slughorn were in talks with the squib magic school to introduce Arithmancy and Potions to the syllabus.

Joseph Edgcombe, as in Cho’s best friend Marietta Edgcombe’s cousin, was one of the recruits he was tutoring now. The brat was mouthier than his cousin, but hard working despite having been home-schooled after being on the run from Snatcher’s during the war. He was a little jittery, from one cruciatus too many, but determined to join the Corps and was definitely sharp enough to make it with a little effort.

Rigel Isley was one of the youngest recruits, an alleged street kid from a thought extinct ‘Dark’ family and probably related to the Black family in some fashion or another. He’d joined just shy of sixteen, after his OWLs as soon as he could once the war was over, in the same hurry Harry had had in running for his life. He was good too, but had yet to master his Patronus or finish Animagus training which he needed to pass.

There were others too, of course. Leanne Triston – one of Katie Bell’s friends, Adeline Waters -  a muggleborn with the craziest budgie as an animagus, Grant Travers – from the DA with an amazing right hook but a tendency to burn things with magic (not unlike Seamus) were who he had today, working on Patroni and simultaneous shield-casting techniques.

Once the recruits were dismissed, it was eventually time to face the music.

He dropped by the bakery opposite the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes for a few things to placate her and then apparated to the Tonks house near Covent Garden.

Hopefully, a few cakes would be enough.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s all it was?” Andy laughed, as Teddy dug into a strawberry tart in his high chair.

Harry spluttered, “Why are y- What d- No, I’m – “ He paused when his godson started giggling too, jam around his mouth. “That’s all it was? I’m having an identity crisis!”

Her laugh petered down softly to a chuckle, as she stirred her tea. “You silly boy,” She said, it would have almost been fondly if her eyes hadn’t been clearly still laughing. “Lots of people go through life with purposes like these, looking after children, being successful in their job, fulfilling ambition, meeting expectations. “ She said matter-of-factly, “No, what you’re struggling with is that you don’t have anything you want to do, not need to do, what you want to do.” She paused, mulling over her tea in silence. “Tell me, Harry, what do you like to do? As a hobby?”

“Defence.” He said, immediately.

“Is that because you want to? Or because you needed to?”

He hummed as he sipped his tea in thought. “…wanted to? Because I needed to?”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

He licked the cream off his spoon, the cake on his plate looking fairly naked now that he’d stripped it of its icing and décor. “I do like it, I like learning new defence spells and techniques, and martial arts.”

“So why not go teach at Hogwarts? I know you’re teaching the Auror recruits right now too, do you enjoy that?"

He nodded, “It’s fine, they’re good crop this year. But returning to Hogwarts?” He sighed. “I feel like Hogsmeade is close enough, to be honest.”

Remus had died there, as had Tonks – Moony had been like an Uncle to him, the closest thing he’d had left of a father figure, and Tonk had been like the sister he’d never had, family. Fred had died there too, another member of family gone. Dumbledore, and Colin, and Lavender, and so many others. And being there, just reminded him that Hedwig was dead, and so was Sirius, and so was Cedric, an-

“And what else? What else do you like to do?” Andromeda’s voice brought him back like whiplash, her voice cutting through his…brooding?

He hmm’d and hawed for a moment, watching Teddy pick the strawberry out of his tart now that he’d licked all the jam and cream off, leaving the tart base like an upturned husk on his little high chair table. “I like flying.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He chuckled, “the adrenaline rush I suppose, and I’m good at it.” He broke of a piece of the sponge cake off with his fork. “My dad was pretty good at it too, according to apparently everyone ever.”

“A career in Quidditch?”

He shook his head, “Nah, again too Hogwarts-y.” What with the last pick-up game he’d attempted, George had called out for Fred to hit a bludger only to remember. They’d grounded pretty soon after that, even though Bill had been playing the other Beater, and gone inside instead.

“What other hobbies then?"

“Does it have to be a job based on my hobbies?”

“Well, I think you’ve done enough for the rest of us to go and work yourself to death in some thankless job you hate.”

“I don’t hate teaching the recruits.”

“But you don’t love it either. What about going back on active duty?”

“Don’t want to do that either."

“So picky!” Andy threw her hands in the air with a groan, that looked very misplaced when they were having tea with her best china and there were tiara’s from the Black vault on all three of their heads (Teddy included, who had whinged for the biggest one he could have). “Well, I am glad you at least thought to talk to me before you went and did anything rash.”

Harry ate more of his cake, pretending he couldn’t see her knowing look. He hadn’t done anything rash since…walking out on Ginny yesterday…well. Fine. So, he’d been a little rash – wasn’t a crime!

“You looked so lost this morning, I half-thought you were going to propose to Ginny Weasley! At twenty!”

Harry promptly choked on his cake. MARRY? GINNY? Not anytime soon! He spluttered, coughing and felt his face go red. “P-P-PROPOSE?”

Teddy burst into a fit of giggles, probably at the sight of his red-faced dying-of-suffocation-by-cake godfather, the tiny little traitor.

“Well, what was I supposed to think!” She quipped back, snarky as ever. “You never tell me about your love life, and the Quibbler gossip section seems to think it’s about time! And Molly Weasley fire-calling me every weekend with _oh-wouldn’t-it-be-wonderful-to-have-more-grandchildren!_ ”

Harry breathed deeply through his nose, in an attempt to live long enough to escape this hell.

“Potter, godfather of my grandson or not!” She barked at him suddenly. “I don’t want any more grandchildren for at least until you have a stable LIFE!”

He nodded furiously. Yes, no children, for quite some time, yes, sounded good, sounded fabulous, he very much agreed.

“Teddy,” She turned so quickly, Teddy stopped laughing to stare at her in surprise. “Make sure your godfather doesn’t do anything stupid when responsible adults aren’t around to supervise.”

“Andy, he’s two.”

“He’s smarter than you sometimes.”

“…Not going to argue with that.”

Andy sighed and turned back to face him, eying Harry’s messed up cake with a tad disgust. “In all seriousness, if it’s not fulfilling enough then ask for some leave from the Corps. Spend some more time with Teddy, go see the world if you’re that bored. Go live like a muggle or something. Like one of those muggle ‘gap yaaar’ things Dora used to tell me about.” She let out another little sigh, quieter this time. “She wanted to go on one right after Hogwarts but you knew how she was, she was even worse just fresh out of school, clumsy girl.” Andy said, fondly, eyes bright. “She made this whole plan, and did a big presentation to me and Ted about why she should go and why we should let her.” The old woman let out a watery laugh, before she subsided. “Of course, the Ministry heard about her metamorphagus talent and before either of us knew she’d made a another presentation about why she just HAD to be an Auror.”

Teddy seemed to recognise something serious had happened or was happening and was blinking rapidly, looking at his empty tart-base like he might burst into tears and making grabby motions with pudgy hands for a cuddle.

It could be doable, he supposed as he picked up the toddler. He could just take up and off, god knows he’d planned to before magic came into his life. It would be a little lonely by himself, but he could always pop back for a visit…

“Do you still have her travel plans?”

Now, all he had to do was deal with Ginny (and Molly.)

 

* * *

 

Harry had managed to finish work early, book an appointment with Odgen for tomorrow and very discretely inform his colleagues at the training centre he was applying for leave. They’d all protested for a while before Susan had rolled her eyes with a huff told him he better not slack off whilst away. The rest of them had folded pretty soon after that and had been mostly understanding when he’d said to keep it quiet for now until he had his affairs in order.

And then he’d apparated back to the house in Hogsmeade.

It was a sturdy thing, a cottage with character the associate at Gringotts had said when he’d originally bought it a few months post-Battle. It was on the edge of Hogsmeade, a fifteen minute walk into the village proper down a path that ran alongside a road leading out onto the motorway, if one carried on walking past their house. Hogsmeade itself did have a road that lead from the motorway that muggles frequently used, but much like the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and Diagon Alley, the entrance from the motorway was hidden – disguised as little more than the trunk of a sprawling cypress tree with branches that kept low to the ground and could only be entered by smearing magical blood over a knot in the bark.

The house itself was had three levels, a basement and the ground floor and the cramped attic space. The basement had a few rooms: an office, a small lounge, a bathroom, the master bedroom and Teddy’s room. All the rooms there had enchanted mirrors set up on the walls, like large windows mirroring the view of the windows on the ground floor to add light. Upstairs, the ground floor was open planned in contrast, there were a few plush couches dotted around the space, with bookshelves stacked along the walls. In the far left corner of the room was a mahogany dining table he’d found in the Potter Vault, that had gold inlay and filigree engraved into the smooth polished wood along with a matching set of six chairs. On the right-hand side was the kitchen done in the same dark oak as the ceiling beams with bronze furnishings. There was another bathroom walled off by the front door. In the centre of the ceiling was a trapdoor leading to the loft space above, although that was lit with bluebell fire lights and small enough that Harry had to duck his head to stand at the tallest point of the attic so was usually only used as a storage space.

He entered the house just before five o’ clock, letting the door lock behind him with a soft click. He toed off his shoes, and nudged them to the side of the entryway with the side of his foot and then padded into towards the kitchen for a drink.

“Ginny!” He called out, as he passed the staircase leading towards the basement rooms. “You here?”

He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of sparkling pumpkin and pomegranate cider. There were some clean mugs by the sink so he flicked a drying charm at them before sloshing in a good glug of the bubbly amber liquid.

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Ginny walking towards him.

“Harry! You’re home early,” She smiled tiredly, and leaned towards him for a kiss, lips meeting his cheek instead. “Is everything alright?”

He stared at her. She was pretty he supposed, in the way someone might admire a stained glass. Aesthetically lovely, and warm when the sun shone through them but at night with no light they were cold and indifferent to the night sky. Ginny was lovely, and kind, and fiery and warm, but she was also Ron’s – who was basically a brother to him – sister and no matter what she did, he couldn’t help but see her as Ginny Weasley, sister, no longer Ginny Weasley, lover, like she wanted.

What had started off passionate and ablaze had dwindled after the initial aftermath of the Battle for Hogwarts. Ginny was busy helping George with the shop and the whole family was coping with the loss of both Percy and Fred. Harry had been busy with the rebuilding of Hogwarts and Odgen’s ‘clean up’ squad, hunting down the remains of Tom Riddle’s supporters. Most days they hadn’t seen each other until the other had gone to sleep and one person was always gone before the other woke come the morning. And in the end, they’d never really recovered that initial spark once they’d lost it.

“I’m going on leave from the Corps.” He said, and the took a long gulp of the cider, feeling the sweetness fizz down his throat.

Her eyes widened, “Leave?” she put her mug down on the counter, the ceramic hitting wood sharply. “Why would they do that? Is it a mission? The Order?”

“No,” He shook his head. “I’ve got an appointment to talk to Odgen about it tomorrow, I’m requesting indeterminable leave from the Corps.”

“You’re…” She paused, staring at him wide-eyed. “You’re quitting? Why? Who talked you into this?”

“It’s mine own choice, I want to go abroad.” He told her, as truthfully as he could in a quiet voice. “I… just need some space.”

Ginny was watching him now, something wary in her eyes, like he was someone she’d never seen before. Like she realised the certainty in his decision and how determined he was. “From what?” She cried out, shoving him none too gently against the counter with a curled fist, the back of his head smacked into the cupboard behind. “Everything you love is here! Everything you fought for is here! Ron and Hermione just got married! Victoire’s going to be one soon! What do you mean, go abroad!?” She hissed at him.

“So I’ll visit!” He shot back at her, voice rising with his temper. He ducked away from her hands and drained the mug.

“I…’ll?” She said faintly, taking a step backwards this time before she screwed her face and rocked forwards on her heels, surging to meet him. “You don’t expect me to come with you.”

“No,” He said, sinking into an armchair. “You have your career, your parents, your life, it’s all here.”

“Harry Potter, are you break up with me?” She demanded, red anger flushed high on her cheekbones. “Are you?!”

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see it coming.” Her eyes were bright now, her jaw clenched tightly. “We were just kids when we got together, there’s someone out there who will love you the way you want, far better than I ever did.”

“Harry, you…” There were tears now, spilling onto her cheeks, her hand flying to her mouth. “D-Did you ever plan on marrying me?”

He looked away, feeling his heart clench uncomfortably. He thought of his vehement protests to Andy when she’d even suggested it. “…I’m sorry.” Honesty was probably better, wasn’t it?

“You, you…” There was a sob and then something scalding and wet hit him, pain lancing all the way up his shoulders and neck to his face. Coffee dripped down his chin. “YOU ARSEHOLE!” She shrieked, the door slammed hard enough to make the walls shake and then there was a sharp crack.

Silence.

 

* * *

 

Andromeda Lucretia Tonks was only middle-aged by wizarding standards. At sixty-seven, she still stood tall, with all the mannerisms associated with her pedigree, an elegant woman with long dark hair curled in a braided knot kept in place by a few jade hairpins – a wedding gift from her in-laws when they were still alive. There were a few streaks of grey mixed amongst the curls but she hardly cared, her Ted had always said she aged like fine wine.

Ted’s parents had been muggles, and wary of their son’s world. Rightly so, of course, but they had not scorned her when she’d apparated onto their front lawn at sixteen, fresh burn marks scarlet along her arms and legs and stomach (because they could break any part of her apparently, but her virginity and her face they would not touch less the Malfoy family turn their gaze elsewhere). It had been a bright summer day, and her skin had felt like it was positively bristling under the heat and her Ted had rushed out to grab her as she collapsed towards the ground, mouth full of blood from holding back screams. And his parents had gasped and paled and instead of turning her away or averting their eyes fearfully, they’d ushered her inside and called for muggle healers before Andy could even introduce herself.

Ted had spent the rest of that summer alternating between tending to her wounds at her bedside and running around magical settlements looking for a job or apprenticeship. The Black prestige would no doubt make returning to Hogwarts dangerous for them both. It was lucky that Andy had at least taken her OWLs and Ted had only had one year left before he graduated. In the end, he managed to find a Magical Menagerie in Cornwall that was willing to hire a muggleborn with only OWL qualifications for minimal pay. Whilst he was out working, Mrs Tonks, his mother, had nursed her back to health over the summer months, always on hand for a shoulder to cry on. She had broken down when she’d had to confess to his parents that their son wouldn’t be able to return to Hogwarts because of her, and the family she came from, and the betrothal she’d run from.

And his parents had hugged her, tears in their eyes, no scorn or disgust or hatred over what she had done.

They were gone now, of course, laid to rest years ago.

The only remaining family she had left, was her little sister Narcissa, her son Draco and her sweet little Teddy and his godfather. All that remained of House Black. Only a generation prior, the family had too many branches to count, as many relatives as there were thorns on a rosebush, and now? Five members.

Although she had little fondness for her departed family, there was a bitterness in her chest at the thought of how many had died, but a lightness too at the dismissal of the heavy shackles that had once been her Family.

Her own father would have been horrified if he saw her now, dressed in a soft brown muggle cardigan, a blue muggle cotton dress, not to mention the fluffy muggle slippers on her feet. Her mother would probably have cursed her.

She wandered through her muggle house, a weighted sheep’s wool throw in her hands until she reached her grandson’s room. Inside she could hear soft murmuring and giggling, indecipherable through the wood of the door. Gently, she pushed the door open slightly, peered round the corner.

“…Altheda was wise though she was poor, and she began brewing a potion to save her dear friend, there at the foot of the Fountain of Fair Fortune…” The man was saying, dark hair swept back from his face, eyes fondly on her daughter’s child cocooned in his arms.

Teddy’s amber eyes were wide in fascination, as his godfather’s voice drifted melodically in the air and stiller than her usually fidgety charge could be, Dora’s old stitched blankie wrapped around his fist and the thumb of his other hand in his mouth.

Harry’s voice was low and soothing, no sign of his troubled arrival earlier although the red blotches on his left cheek and down his neck were obvious in the low light of Teddy’s nightlight. “…And so, it was decided that it would be Sir Luckless who would bathe in the Fountain, wishing for love and hope and courage.” He turned the page of the aged book.

At first, she had not known what to make of Harry Potter, a child with eyes that had seen too much and heart that had been loved too little. The boy had emerged from the battle not unscathed from his death and there were moments when he dropped his happy façade for the Ministry and his false smiles for his friends and was just lost, there but not fully present.

She had not thought her words from this afternoon would cause him to break his ties, truthfully. She had merely told him what she thought, that he was a young man with much of his life yet to live and there was no rush to settle down or burden himself with the expectations of others. He had died for them, he shouldn’t have to live for them too.

He had Floo-ed in shortly after dinner, his face burnt an angry shade of red and clung to Teddy like that was all he had left in the world. “I broke up with Ginny.” He had murmured quietly as she’d smeared burn paste over blistering skin, puffy and going white. “I just couldn’t…I can’t…” He’d whispered into Teddy’s hair, “I can’t love her like that.” His gaze lowering in shame, brokenly, “I don’t think I can love anyone like that.”

Andy’d had half a mind to send Miss Weasley a Howler worthy of her mother. Did Ginny do this? The burns on his face, the bruise on the back of his skull. The broken tone to the man she’d accidentally began to see as her son. She’d watched him huddle Teddy to his chest, the toddler clutching his sweater babbling and cooing at his godfather, “’ree! ‘ree!”

“Yes, yes, you silly thing,” He’d murmured, feather soft, peppering kisses on chubby baby cheeks. “Uncle Harry’s here.”

Teddy’s eyes were drooping in his bed now, head lolling to rest on Harry’s chest.

“…and with that, they left the Fountain of Fair Fortune behind them and strolled down the hill, all their wishes answered and solutions found – unaware that the fountain held no magical power at all.” Harry glanced up, to meet her gaze with a timid smile.

She answered it with a fond look of her own. “Need some help extracting yourself?”

“I’ve got it.” He unwound his arm from behind Teddy’s head and lowered the boy under the covers, his head cresting the pillow and tucking the duvet up to his chin.

“I swear he never falls asleep this fast when I read,” She huffed jokingly as she passed him the throw.

He chuckled, “That’s a lie and you know it.”

They exited the room and headed to the kitchen at a slow pace. “I’ve brought down Dora’s plans from the loft.” She said after a beat of silence. “They’re a bit dusty, but…”

“Andy, it’s fine.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Thank you for letting me see them.”

“Nonsense, Dora would have been happy to have given them to you.”

“Still,” He said, reaching for the lid of the faded box on the dining table. “Thank you.”

She sank heavily into a chair as she watched him slowly remove the lid and begin to gently spread maps and papers and items onto the table top. “When I spoke to you at lunch, it wasn’t my intention to chase you out of your job and country, you realise?”

He rolled his eyes, “I was already thinking about it anyways, it was nice to have someone else say it was a good idea too.”

“…it was hypocritical of me to tell you when to get married earlier,” She said, as she watched him thumb through a map of Brazil. “I got married in the September after my OWLs.”

“But that was different,” He picked up Dora’s old notes. “You were running from being married to Lucius Malfoy.” He shuddered exaggeratedly.

“That’s also true.” She conceded, trying not to laugh at his expression of disgust.

 

* * *

 

“Indeterminate?” Odgen’s eyes narrowed. “Is this your retirement announcement?”

The man made a cutting figure, dressed in deep blue robes, a black medallion with the Auror crest  on his chest symbolising his position as Head Auror. His face was clean shaven, making the scars bisecting it stand out against his skin.

“If I’m honest, sir, I don’t know.” Harry twisted the Lord’s rings on his fingers. “I appreciate all that the Office has done for me, but with all due respect I’ve spent the past two years chasing down the last of Voldemort’s supporters off the book and training new recruits and at this rate, I feel like I might burn-out.”

“I thought we were attempting honesty here, Auror Potter.”

He looked up, “Maybe not burning out,” He conceded. “But the truth is, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so, Auror Greengrass is more than capable of rounding up the last of the Death Eaters, and Auror Bones has the Training Centre running like a fine-tuned instrument. Auror Weasley is the perfect candidate to take over the Hit Wizard squad. The DMLE doesn’t need a figurehead to placate the public anymore with and with Lord Henessy in charge it looks like it will stay that way for quite some time.”

Patroclus Odgen steeple his hands, eying him speculatively across the desk.

Harry continued his spiel. “Sir, the department does not need Harry Potter to stay afloat.” His hands curled in his lap. “I just need some time off, sir.”

Odgen pinched his nose. “Potter, you’ve done good work for us.” He shook his head. “Never thought I’d see you leave the Corps before I did, but I suppose you’ve always been one for surprises. Always giving me bloody headaches.”

He smothered a laugh, “Apologies, sir.”

“Apologies, my left foot!” The man grumbled, massaging his temples. “What do you want me to tell the public? They’ll ask you know.”

“Just tell them I’m going on holiday, sir.” He replied, “I’ll still be in attendance at the quarterly Wizengamot sessions.”

“It’s a shit excuse, but they’ll probably believe it regardless.” Odgen snorted. “Fine, I’ll grant you leave, Potter, can’t guarantee you’ll have a definite position to come back to though.”

“That’s fine, sir. I’ll take it.”

A heavy stamp was removed from a drawer and pressed against a purple ink stone. “So mote it be.” The man intoned solemnly, the wooden stamp pushed against thick parchment declaring him free to leave. Both of them stood.

“Thank you for your service, Auror Potter.” Odgen shook his hand firmly. “You’ve been an asset to the Auror Corps.”

“Thank you for having me, sir. It’s been a pleasure to work here.”

And with that, Harry left the office and headed for the International Floo for his first stop on his journey.

 


	2. komorebi (n.) the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Hermione (and Ron),
> 
> I’m enjoying my holiday! The weather’s been great so far, summer really is the best time to go on vacation!
> 
> Sorry about my CHICKENSCRATCH, tell George thanks for looking after the house for me. I’ve decided I’m going to work on my tan, and stay away from Britain until I’ve got a healthy glow. It might take days, it might take months, but I’m determined! But don’t fear! I shall return for the next Wizengamot for a few days, and pop off again. Proxies have been nominated for my seats in the meantime, (HINT – one will have George’s arse on it, guess who has the other one?)
> 
> Also, know a translation spell by any chance? Or a way to cheat at learning new languages? Just thought I’d ask.
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Your BFF, H.J.P.

**chapter 2: _komorebi (n.) the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees_**

~~_Dear Harry_ ~~ _HARRY JAMES POTTER_

 _What hare-brained scheme have you gotten up to now, YOU IDIOT? Molly floo-ed us a few nights ago saying that Ginny had gone and locked herself in her room at the Burrow, so the next day Ron goes looking for you at the Auror Corps and Macmillan tells us you’ve gone ON HOLIDAY? And then Ogden tells us YOU QUIT? AND THEN WE BOTH COME HOME TO A LETTER IN YOUR STUPID CHICKENSCRATCH ON THE DINING TABLE?_ **_‘Dear ‘Mione and Ron, going abroad, don’t look for me, will be back for Victoire’s birthday’_ ** _WHAT THE_ _BL_ **_OODY HELL IS GOING ON, HARRY POTTER_ ** _?_

_I broke my quill writing that by the way – you owe me a replacement now._

_Where the hell have you gone? I know things between Ginny and you weren’t the best, but don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?_

_Molly’s furious by the way, she wanted to send you half-a-dozen Howlers but we talked her down in the end. Ron is also_ ~~_angry_ ~~ _very upset, but it’s more because you upset his sister than the fact that you two broke up. I don’t understand why you broke up with her, mind you, she was smitten and yes, maybe you guys were going through a rough patch but there’s always couples counselling! And self-help books! Trudy from Accounting recommends ‘Lovelda’s Love Lexicon for Lifeless Liasons and Low-key Lovers’. She says it’s quite a long read, and the author does love her alliterations, but worth it._

_I don’t understand why you would ruin a perfectly good relationship. Ginny told me you were spending so much time out the house that for whatever little time she had at home off Quidditch seasons, you were never there anyways. Relationships don’t work like that! Of course, you would find maintaining it tough if you never saw each other properly! I know you mean well, what with your job in the Corps and helping out Kingsley and looking after Teddy, but you need to cut some of these things out if you want to have a healthy relationship! Well, I suppose you did cut them out in the end since you’re no longer here._

_Ginny’s gone on tour anyway, George went to collect her stuff from your place yesterday (why does he have your spare and we don’t?). How long do you think you’ll be away for? Will you be back for the next Wizengamot session? Have you nominated proxies for your seats?_

_Also, WHERE ARE YOU?_

_Lots of ire from being kept out of the loop,_

_Hermione (and Ron)._

* * *

 

The magical district in France – _c_ _our des Rêves –_ was located in Paris. He’d taken the Eurostar train from London, under the English Channel, and had gotten off at the train station in Paris, with little more than a new muggle Passport (Gringotts forged, of course), a bundle of clothes, a few magical and muggle guidebooks, a disposable Kodak camera, Tonk’s travel plans and his wallet in his backpack and his wand in a wrist holster.

He’d bought himself a cup of tea at a stall by the platform, clutching his Goblin-issued English to French book of phrases and vocabulary like a lifeline

“Tea…er, see-voo-play…?” _‘S’il vous plait’_ was please, wasn’t it? He hoped he’d said it decently.

_“…un th_ _é?”_

“…eh, whee.” How was _‘oui’_ supposed to sound like whee anyways? French was such a complicated language!

_“au lait?”_

“…um, whee?” He could see the checkout girl cringing at his accent, oh Merlin what if he was accidently saying a swear word? What the bloody hell was ‘olay’? Was she asking him about shampoo?

 _“C’est deux euros vingt-cinq.”_ Thank god the till displayed prices, French was too bloody fast.

 _“…mwons veet, je swee de-so-lay.”_ Where was Fleur when you needed her? Or Hermione for that matter – oh right, back in Britain. _‘Moins vite’ –_ that was slowly right? He was _‘_ désolé’ for forcing her to listen to him butcher her language, _‘désolé’_ times a thousand.

His French was awful. He had to keep flicking through the book, whilst rummaging through his wallet for euros and cents mixed in with British Pound Sterling. The poor girl behind the counter had smiled pityingly at what was clearly some idiot tourist, coming to their country without learning the language.

Still, he was trying right? That had to count?

After his embarrassing venture at speaking French he’d clutched his too-milky tea and set about looking for the magical district at long last. His magical guidebook of Europe had said there was an entrance in the Catacombs in Paris, which sounded faintly ominous. The book had a fairly clear description of the place, apparently “a bustling centre of activity, famous for its Faerie Statue _‘La Statue de courage féerique’_ and a gathering places for magicals from across all of France”, which was all very well and nice but it didn’t say how to get to the entrance or even get to the Catacombs.

So he’d wandered around Paris for a few days to see the muggle sites. He’d spent a day hoping on random buses and butchering French asking bus drivers if they would be heading to so-and-so site and either scrambling for change or ‘Merci beaucoup, je suis _désolé’-_ ing and practically throwing himself out the bus. It wasn’t exactly dignified, but it worked and in a way it was kind of fun, in a heart-pumping-try-not-to-humiliate-yourself-Potter, kind of way.

By sunset, he was standing on the top deck of the Eiffel Tower, watching the cloudless sky blister pink and oranges in everstretching flares, eating a baguette stuffed with cheese and meats and sipping Orangina. There were a few snaps on the film roll inside his Kodak, no doubt, but whether any selfies he’d taken would be blurry or not would have to wait until the photos were developed. He’d taken quite a few photos today, there should be a couple of him in front of the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe, a few of him lost in the Latin Quarter, and then doubling back to the Notre-Dame Cathedral. He’d even snagged a ride on a tour boat down the Seine.

Say what you want about wizards and witches, but muggles? They were pretty damn magical in their own right too.

Down below, the garden’s looked tiny, the people barely the size of his fingernail. Up on the platform, the wind tousling his hair, it was like he was back on his Firebolt, that feeling of _aahh_ after a Wronski Feint.

He got a letter from Hermione later that night, delivered by Pigwidgeon. Harry had only just plopped his bag down in his room, in a little hotel he’d found while wandering after dinner, when the tiny crazy owl had thrown itself through his open window. Pig bounced once on his mattress and then landed with a flop on his feathered chest, after a pause and a twitch, shook himself off and then offered him his crumpled letter dopily.

Harry petted the little thing absently whilst he read it. Hermione had held nothing back, clearly, when writing it. And he wasn’t surprised to know the Weasleys were upset. He called reception for a plate of bacon and a hot chocolate for himself ( _‘chocolat chaud’_ prettily pronounced sho-co-la sho) and filled the sink with a little water for Pig to drink. Only once both of them were sated, did he craft a reply.

* * *

 

_Dear Hermione (and Ron),_

_I’m enjoying my holiday! The weather’s been great so far, summer really is the best time to go on vacation!_

_Sorry about my CHICKENSCRATCH, tell George thanks for looking after the house for me. I’ve decided I’m going to work on my tan, and stay away from Britain until I’ve got a healthy glow. It might take days, it might take months, but I’m determined! But don’t fear! I shall return for the next Wizengamot for a few days, and pop off again. Proxies have been nominated for my seats in the meantime, (HINT – one will have George’s arse on it, guess who has the other one?)_

_Also, know a translation spell by any chance? Or a way to cheat at learning new languages? Just thought I’d ask._

_Lots of love,_

_Your BFF, H.J.P._

* * *

 

It was a sad fact of life, that when you went through traumatic things with friends (i.e. killing a troll, entering a forbidden corridor, taking care of Blast-ended Skrewts, offing a Dark Lord etcetera, etcetera…) the bond between them and you will be so strong that things seen in normal friendships were fried to a crisp and tossed far, far away.

And yes, maybe he was being a little too vindictive in writing a response sure to infuriate his bookish best friend, but maybe if she hadn’t felt the need to prescribe a bloody love guide or wax poetic about his not-a-relationship-anymore with Ginny then he wouldn’t need to resort to such method. Admittedly, the letter did make it sound like he was drunk, but who cared? He was twenty, his best mates might want to get married, settle down in a house with a white picket fence and two-point-five kids – but not him, no siree.

Okay, so there may have been a liberal amount of alcohol in his hot chocolate.

Early the next morning, having rested well, Pig took off into the bright sky with a crisp white envelope, spelled with the Imperturbable Charm against the elements. The sun had only just begun to peek over the Parisian skyline pushing back the blue shadows of the past night. Harry watched the little owl zip off and away out the window before he turned back to prepare for another day of exploring.

His backpack had been something he’d found in a small shop squeezed in the corner of an alleyway at the far end of Diagon Alley. The place had been dusty and cramped, knickknacks and trinkets strung up on the ceiling with silvery threads and piled up high on shelves against the walls and low hanging tables scattered around the shop front. The old woman running the place had looked even dustier and more eclectic than her shop, long heavy earrings hanging from the lobes of her ears, dark eyes that watched his every move as she fed more of a murky black powder into an incense burner. He’d found the leather knapsack amongst a pile of miscellaneous junk spilling across the wooden floors, selling at three knuts.

It suited him well now. It’s innards were enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm courtesy of a trip to the nearby trunk makers’ shop. He would have done it himself, or otherwise badgered Hermione into it if Ministry regulations on private use of the charm weren’t so strict – there had been an incident when curious wizard had wandered onto Charing Cross Road and attempted to pay for a sandwich by sticking his arm elbow-deep into his centimetre thick wallet. The idiot had been heavily fined (because he’d done it himself, been stupid about the Statute and the charm had ceased working during his rummage for change) and Obliviators had had a field day.

The version of the charm he’d asked the owner of the trunk shop to cast was much less powerful, only expanding as required to a maximum of twice the volume it had originally. He’d etched his own amateur feather-light runes into the base of the bag, making the bag heavy enough to be manageable burden between his shoulder blades and stand up to scrutiny if anyone else had to lift it, but not so heavy that there was no need to worry if he decided to splurge on souvenirs.

He slipped on a white short-sleeved shirt and tugged on a pair of dark brown shorts before yawning his way to the bathroom to complete morning ablutions. When he at last stepped out into the sunshine it was just coming up to eight o’ clock.

He’d finally given in to temptation and just asked for directions from the girl at reception. Thankfully, the girl had taken pity on him and answered his awful French with lightly accented English. According to the teen, he wasn’t too far away from where the tour of the Catacombs started so hopefully he’d be able to find the magical entrance today.

Eventually, he found the tour group after a bit of lost wandering, but he hardly minded. The muggle side of Paris had beautiful landmarks certainly, but there was an underlying enchantment in the dark cobbles on the old streets and the little shops and cafés dotted this way and that. The sky was dappled with white cloud above and the sun was warm on his back when he made his way to the tour checkpoint.

There were a few already waiting as he approached. A couple of teenage girls, laughing and snapping pictures of each other with their phones. There were a few that looked much like he would have done, people in their early twenties chatting, heavy looking backpacks on their shoulders and clunky looking hiking boots.

He stepped forward, “- is this the English Catacombs tour?”

“Yeah,” One of the older guys said, an American then, and reached a hand forward to shake. “At least, we hope so!” He gave a chuckle.

“Oh, good, my French is terrible.” Harry laughed, “I’m Harry.”

“Christian.” He said back, cheeks dimpled. And then seemed to remember his surroundings. “Oh, this is Flora,” He gestured to a tall dark-skinned, Spanish looking girl. “And Hiroto.” A shortish but broad-shouldered guy.

“Nice to meet you.” He greeted back to their hello’s.

It was several more minutes until the tour guide arrived with the last of the group, a couple, but in that time, Christian and his friends had introduced themselves a little more thoroughly. Christian and Flora were half-siblings, as it turned out, and had just graduated college in the States, Christian in Art and Design and Flora in something maths related. They shared some similar features he supposed, the same skin-tone and a similar face shape, but Flora was at least a head taller than Christian which made it somewhat hilarious considering she was several months younger. Hiroto seemed a little more cautious, shyer, he had said that he was from Japan and just travelling around. He looked athletic, dressed in a blue tank top and dark shorts.

“And what are you doing in Paris, Harry?” Flora asked, as they followed the guide towards the entrance, fixing him a curious look.

“Just travelling like you lot, I guess,” He hmmed. “Felt…cramped at home.”

“Aah,” Christian grinned, “the infamous wanderlust.”

And then they descended the stairs into the darkness.

The catacombs itself had a pretty interesting history, if a little dark. Then again, it seemed like the most interesting bits of history tended to be. Originally, it had been a vast network of mines, but once the rich deposits were depleted, the tunnels were abandoned and forgotten, until sometime later when the Parisian cemeteries’ mass graves were overflowing and collapsing. The muggle ruler at the time had the ordered for the bodies to be exhumed and moved into the Catacombs. All very interesting, especially when Christian had whispered to their group that the bodies had decomposed mostly and all that remained were fat deposits and bone – the fat which was then used to make candles and soap. Morbid.

It was dark and cool down here, and quiet. The city above their heads seemed miles and miles away, the sun even more so.

Harry wondered what that said about _c_ _our des Rêves_ and the French ministry, that the entrance to the main magical district of France was located in such a place.

Cecile, the tour guide, led them through long tunnels that varied in width and length, some chambers wide enough to hold a party, some they had to hunch their shoulders and squeeze through. Some of the walls were stone, but some walls were just human remains, floor to ceiling. Skulls stared back at him blankly in lines on the wall.

He was half tempted to check his pockets for the Resurrection stone.

Cecile warned them all not to stray too far from the group and not to go past the rope-barriered areas but let them look around a little. There were horror stories of children getting lost in the labyrinth beneath Paris, alone in the dark but for over two million of the long dead.

Flora dragged her brother away to look at some art that freelancers had left on one of the walls, dark skeletal hands clutching the pale flesh hand of a child. It was a haunting image. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come to such a place, filled with death, when he couldn’t even stand to be in Hogwarts for so long.

“Alright?”

Harry wrenched his eyes away.

There was a girl at his side – he hadn’t even noticed her – looking at him with a little concern. _Tonks!_ His mind supplied, and then he blinked. No, it wasn’t Tonks. The girl – because she could be no older than sixteen, face still a little childishly round – had pink hair, but it wasn’t Tonk’s favourite bubblegum shade, more of a deeper rose-pink colour and far longer than Teddy’s mother had liked hers. Right, not Tonks. Right.

“You alright?” Not-Tonks asked again when he didn’t reply, her English slightly accented – Spanish maybe, or Italian?

“Yeah,” He bit his lip, trying to shake off the odd feeling. “Sorry – for the staring - you reminded me of someone I knew.”

She laughed, “I thought it was the pink.” She gestured vaguely to her head.

He shook his head and opened his mouth to reply.

 _“Amore mio.”_ Ah, Harry thought as another man appeared by her side, slipping his hand around her wrist, dark haired and looking tense. The girl suddenly looked tense, and the smile on her face looked a little more forced.

“Romeo.” She said, looking uncomfortable. “I was just –”

“The guide is going.” Her boyfriend said, shortly.

Harry joined the tail end of the group. Christian and his friends were up at the front chatting to the guide as she led them back towards the entrance. It was completely confusing, and if it weren’t for the tour route being marked in red rope he was sure he would have gotten lost. All the same, it was highly unlikely the entrance would be in a place that had so many muggles going in and out so… he glance behind him at the darkening tunnels.

The entrance was probably further in.

“Harry?” He heard Christian’s voice call.

He’d have to come back later, to explore properly.

“Coming!”

He spent the rest of the day with the three travellers around Paris. They were older than him by a few years, but good company nonetheless. And their French was a lot better than his (they laughed a lot when he told them of his struggles). The group didn’t have anything planned for today and Harry’s Catacomb exploration could wait until later, so they spent the day cycling down the Seine on hired bikes and laughing in the sunshine.

They were still strangers at the end of the day, sipping wine in a tiny little restaurant near Hiroto’s lodgings and eating French cuisine. There were beats of awkward silence and startled laughter at new stories being shared in warm lighting and new friends.

But it’s fine, it feels… good.

Harry downed his glass with a cheer.

Tonk’s plans were a bit of a marvel to look at. A modern looking leather-bound journal, stained a bright sunny yellow, with bits of the bindings scuffed and a little frayed. It was not filled, not even halfway, only the first twenty or so pages had been written and the book  was as thick as his wrist was wide. Some of the pages were wrinkled from water spillage, like they’d been soaked and then left to dry in the sun. Others had mug-bottom stains, big concentric rings and little splashes of old tea.

The Travel Book was what she had called it, her sprawling writing displaying it’s title on the first page, obnoxiously large and dotted with little stars and smiley faces and muggle camper vans and the odd inappropriate drawing, just because. It made him laugh though, reading it in the sunshine of the park, a little wistful or melancholy.

There were strips of torn off napkins with scribbled off ideas of where to go next, taped in with scotch tape. The odd lurid orange post-it note, or hundreds of exclamation marks following fanciful ideas of Cairo or the Amazon in bright purple.

It was still very much _Nymphadora Tonk’s_ travel plans.

So, that’s why his eyes skipped past [TOP TEN PLACES I MUST GO BEFORE I DIE BUT PREFERABLY ASAP] and the highlighted ramblings and why he picked Paris instead. It wasn't a city on her list, maybe she’d been there before, or maybe it was too close and not adventurous enough – but Harry'd picked the Paris floo before he'd really thought about it.

Something not totally different, but still a little further out of his comfort zone.

He wasn't sure if that made him a coward or an idiot.

He did go back later that night, after having left the travelling trio he'd been out for dinner with. He packed light, not quite sure what the atmosphere would be like once he hopefully found the magical district. The Diagon was relatively still at night, apart from the occasional drunkard stumbling across the cobblestones hollering for the Knightbus. Most of the shops in the Alley were only open during the day, with the exception of the Leaky Cauldron of course. By contrast, Knocturn Alley came alive with callers and hagglers out on foot in attempts to attract patrons exiting from the restaurants, venues and bars of Trivi Alley.

There had been one spectacular time where a group of them working at the DMLE had gathered for dinner in The Doddering Duck and had been leaving when a stale smelling lanky haired man had pounced on Ron's sleeve and proclaiming about a "definitive cure to your distinctive ginger-ness!" And it was lucky that Ron had been more than a little drunk too otherwise, more than the seller's beard might have been forfeit - you didn't approach a member of the DMLE from their blindspot, let alone a member of the HitWizard Squad. And with so many Aurors around, the man had been lucky to get away with a warning and not a cell for the night.

Harry had stopped back at his room for a light overrobe to throw over his muggle attire and then headed back towards the Catacombs. This time of night, in Paris, was pleasantly busy - not the hustle and bustle of tourists and sunshine as it was during the day - but enough that he didn't feel alone walking the streets. It was hard to tell the time, as he'd never really owned a watch and besides, why turn your wrist when you can just say _'Tempus'_?

The summer sky was just beginning to set, early in June though it was, despite the late hour. The warmth in the air made him feel strangely light. Perhaps he was getting lazy with magic at his disposal. He peered through a darkened shop window, an array of finely crafted watches and buttery-smooth leathers spread out from under glass cases.

By the time he arrived at the entrance once more, the sky was bruising and the temperature had dropped a little more, the breeze turning brisk. He'd been walking for a while though, so the coolness of the evening felt good. The entrance was even more nondescript than it had looked in the daylight - a dark green painted outbuilding that jutted out from the side of the museum. Without the queues and crowds of tourists it looked very much like a mere shed or storage holding.

He stopped a few hundred metres before it, turning into a narrow alleyway filled with cigarette ends and overflowing bins, shrugging the overrobe on. The other end of alley seemed to open onto another road so hopefully it wouldn't look too suspicious to muggle cameras if he went in and didn't come out.

Harry fished his wand from its holster, tucked into the waistband of his trousers - what would Moody have said if he saw him now? But it had been too warm for anything more than shorts and a t-shirt today, and it might have been more than suspicious to have a random stick braced against an ankle or a wrist. Even if he'd _Concealed_ it, he'd likely have wandered around Paris very uncomfortably and sporting a very inconsistent shuffle across the pavements.

He circled his wand overhead, wrist moving deftly. Another thing that would have been awkward with an attached wand holster. The familiar cool, slimy sensation of being doused in raw egg, as Ron had often complained, made Harry's nose wrinkle by reflex but no longer caused the toe-curling shudder of ick that it used to, now that he knew the spell so well he didn't even need the incantation.

Mindful of any errant passers-by, he stepped back out between the two buildings and back onto the street, heading for the entrance once more. There was probably a more wizard-friendly entrance to the Catacombs now that he thought about it. Perhaps, French magicals were different - but the British ones could be incredibly silly and unreliable which was why they had gotten rid of the entrance from a telephone box on the high street and the ones down a toilet on the underground and relocated them to simple shop entrances - like the Leaky Cauldron onto the Diagon.

He checked behind him one last time before pressing his wand tip against the lock. It wouldn't do for a passing muggle to spot the door to the Catacombs opening with no-one standing there, after all. There would be a story circling about ghosts before dawn. Behind the door, there was a small click and a series of whirrs. The _sshunk_ of a locking mechanism releasing and then he was slipping through the slight gap and inside.

It was dark inside. Harry stretched his hands out in front of him, feeling for the rope barrier that marked the beginning of the descending stairwell. For a moment he was tempted to light a Lumos but he'd spotted a few security cameras earlier in the day. Mindful of the steps, he gingerly toed his way back down to the Catacombs.

He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. He had packed light and left quickly. The brochures the goblins had gave him had been very helpful, he knew about the Fairy statue that he would find the moment he entered and that it was famous for its many tailors and shoemakers that held the majority of the shops. He even knew that there was a portkey only available to purchase from the Paris Branch of Navigem Portkeys to a Magical Reserve in Southern France.

But there was very little information within the brochure as to how to access the magical side of Paris if one was coming from the mundane side.

What little he knew had filtered through Ministry hearsay so it was vague and only to be believed cautiously. Allegedly its entrance was in the Parisian Catacombs. And that you'd know it once you saw it.

Which Harry was a little skeptical about - considering getting into the Diagon required striding up to a normal looking and completely solid wall and tapping a combination of bricks until the _brick slid away._

The tunnels were much cooler than it was during the day, where at least there were burning lights and an influx of people. Harry regretted not bring gloves and a scarf. His robe was thin too, not much of a protection from the chilled stone. It was completely dark down here, lit only by a few green exit signs and after moving past the initial tourist routes, even those disappeared.

The light from his wand skittered across nearby stones and then disappeared several feet from where he stood, the tunnels converged in darkness beyond that.

Harry stared. He'd cast enough _Lumos_ in his lifetime to know…that even when it wasn't a _lumos maxima_ it's light should go a little further. The previous chamber, just beyond the furthest point the tour guide earlier had led them to, had skulls decorating the walls, words and script etched into the brick and stone, but his wand-light had functioned normally despite the creepy atmosphere.

He stepped forwards, past the threshold. The air here was stiller - not the spine chilling horror movie type that he expected - but the kind that came from a place undisturbed. Maybe there was some sort of ward up - like the one over the Leaky Cauldron that made the eyes of passersby skip over an uninteresting shop front. There was no way to tell what was occurring in the streets above down here, any sound from above scarcely made it past the first hundred metres or so of tunnels back at the entrance, let alone deeper into the catacombs.

This tunnel had a fine layer of dust coating the walls, the cracking visages of yellowing skull and bone blanketed by spider's threads, interspersed by sections of brick and mortar. Despite the dust on the walls, the floor was strangely unfettered and smooth underfoot. Almost like slabs of river stones under his soles. Perhaps in winter it flooded down here.

The further down he went the dimmer his wand-light went. He eyed it as he continued downwards, and he could tell his current path was a slope, seemingly leading deeper underground. Occasionally he came to junctions, tunnels that merged into this one or split off from it.

"Point me - _c_ _our des Rêves._ " He tried twenty minutes later, nearly face-palming when he remembered the spell existed. Are you a wizard or not? He could hear in Ron's snickering tones.

The wand-light extinguished and began spinning frantically in his palm in the darkness. Harry sighed and lit a _lumos_ again. Well, it was worth a shot, even if it was fruitless. Had they made the district Unplottable? It would certainly explain a lot, but then again, quite paranoid.

He flicked his wand between the two available paths, eyeing the distinct fork in the tunnel with distaste. The wand-light didn't change when pointed towards the left one, but the right side made the already dim light, even dimmer, barely a pinprick of light to see by.

Hmm, a ward against _lumos_ specifically? Made to increase in strength when he went down specific paths? His Point Me spell had gone a little haywire earlier instead of settling to point towards his destination. Or a ward to disrupt magic casting? He frowned.

_"Incendio."_

A plume of flames shot out of the tip, roaring down the first metre or so of the tunnel on the right. The sparks lit up the walls revealing much of the same dark stone and macabre bones that made up the walls of the catacombs before dissipating.

Not a magic disruption spell - something against _lumos_ specifically? A spell every witch or wizard knew…and would likely try in a dark space?

Nodding resolutely, Harry stepped forwards down the right tunnel, left foot first.

The _lumos_ flickered out.

For a heartbeat, there was nothing but darkness - cold and encompassing and silent, but for Harry's shallow breaths. He strained his ears to hear for any sounds beyond that but it was quiet around him. There had to be a nicer more friendly entrance, and the moment he found the blasted place he was going to ask for directions to it instead of traipsing down creepy tunnels again.

In the distance, something caught his eye. There was a faint light, not the flickering of candles or sconces, but a steady cool blue pinprick, about a hundred metres or so in the distance. Keeping his back angled to where he thought the walls of the tunnels were, he slowly made his way forward, treading lightly on the balls of his feet. With one arm outstretched to skim along the rough brick and rock, and the other firmly pointing his wand, he closed the distance.

It was a rune, he realised as he got closer. Well, not a rune exactly. It didn't look anything like the shapes in Hermione's textbooks or the type that Ron's brother Bill was interested in either. He bent at the waist to get a better look, his wand still pointed at it warily. The glowing sigil was embedded in face of a wall, seemingly marking a T junction where the path he'd been following split into two. It was larger than he'd first realised, roughly the size of his palm and barely illuminated his hand when he brought it up to examine it. Certainly not large enough to light up the passageways but enough to be a marker?

The shape was made of sharp lines and edges, but where the angled Runes Hogwarts taught seemed to resemble something closer to caveman etchings, this one had far more curves and dashes, curling up stylistically against the natural texture of the stone.

Well, they did say it would be obvious once you saw it. Harry squinted at the strange symbol and wondered if it was obvious enough - wouldn't a signpost have been better? Perhaps a glowing _'Witches and Wizards this way.'_ Except in French, obviously.

He glance down the two tunnels that branched off from where he stood, and - oh, look - there was a another blue glowy thing down the left passage. Fantastic.

Was it a magical thing to try and incorporate the most convoluted schemes into public systems? Or just something the British had nicked off the French? He followed the designs for a few more minutes, twisting through tunnels in some sort of shitty Easter egg hunt. He almost wanted to turn back. The French magical society couldn’t be that far removed from the British, surely magicals were magicals no matter where you went? He had been walking beneath the city for what felt like hours now, the soles of his feet beginning to tire, but he could always just turn back the way he'd come. Why had he even decided to drop by in the first place? He barely set foot out the door on his days off, unless it was to visit people. The last time he'd been to the Diagon, just to relax, had been before the War, it was that long ago. Hogsmeade, he occasionally went to just to buy something strong before he headed up to see McGonagall in the Headmistress' Office, but even then that only happened once a year.

Not to say he was a recluse - he did go out after all - but the Wizarding public still went a bit insane anytime he stopped by the pub for a drink, so he'd taken to frequenting the Muggle side of things for a change of pace instead.

He hoped the French were less fanatical, hopefully they had no idea who Harry Potter was and just thought Voldemort was a cheap British knock-off _vol-au-vent._ It was as he was having his second thoughts about this whole venture that the tunnel ended abruptly at a wall.

Harry scowled, glancing around him. There was no new sigil glowing on the walls, nor were there any new paths. He eyed the grey layered brick around him suspiciously and poked at a divot with the end of his wand. It was solid beneath the wood, not an illusion like the Platform Entrance at King's Cross.

_"Revelio!"_

Blue light shot from his wand, enveloping the bare wall before him. There was nothing for a moment, and Harry resisted the urge to groan aloud in frustration. Bloody French Wiz-! And then as the light faded, the glow of new magic spilled into the dark space. It started by his feet, where the seam of the floor and the wall was, a thin thread of light shooting upwards with a barely audible hum, making several 90-degree turn until, with a wary back-step, a large rectangular shape was marked out into the stone.

Scribed within the shape, the glow of careful calligraphy spelled out " _Bienvenue à la cour des Rêves"._

And with that, the stone fell away from the wall where the glowing blue line had previously cut out the rectangular shape until the whole slab swung open on invisible hinges with no sound, but for Harry's breathing and his racing pulse.

Ah, so here was that signpost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have updated this is not a drill i repeat this is not a drill  
> Also of u were looking my way for an april fools fic u should look elsewhereeeee  
> As usual kudos and comments if u like mellow Harry <3

**Author's Note:**

> A little WIP thats going on at the mo! Feel free to let me know what you think! The style's a little different to other things I've posted (see Love like This for angstangstangst) but hope you lot still enjoy!
> 
> Don't forget to leave me a comment if you have any ideas for where Harry should go!! Or any other queries too!!  
> Thanks for reading!


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